


The Rose Garden

by otterbeans



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jean is in the Military Police, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-31 12:45:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3978565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterbeans/pseuds/otterbeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A future rendezvous between two pasts, as the roses are in bloom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have to write Jearmin on a regular basis to maintain my OTP credibility.
> 
> I don't have much to say, just that this fic was inspired by [this picture](http://dapperbunns.tumblr.com/post/89532332180/keeping-with-the) by [Dapperbunns](http://dapperbunns.tumblr.com/) over at Tumblr. It's not entirely true to their AU, which is more extensive, but this is what came to me from that one set of drawings.
> 
> I plan for this fic to be about 3 parts long. I hope you enjoy!

Jean chose that fateful night, as he held the tiny, charred bone from a soldier that he could only pretend was someone he knew. He swore his oath to the burning corpses and rising ashes to take up the mantle of the one who had died and make something change.

He had told him he had the heart to be a leader, after all. That he could make hard decisions, and he had sympathies for the powerless. Maybe that's just what was needed in a place where corruption was infamous.

While in his stubborn, single-minded and selfish youth, he had dreamed of and even strived for the "easy life" that came with being in the king's service, when he actually entered in, the detached and self-serving nature of the those that had come before him and the system that was in place made him mildly ill to be a part of it.

Those first few months were all the more sickening. It was worse than apathy. Jean grew used to the sight of regularly drunken Captains, recruits from important families being fast tracked to cushy positions of power, military supplies being sold on the Black Market in exchange for luxuries... He stopped what he could, and tried not to leave a trail, but his superiors soon grew to have a very particular hatred for him even with a lack of evidence to prove what he was doing.

The state of affairs was frustratingly stale. But soon enough, plots were put into motion.

First there was the incident with Female Titan, and Annie's not-so-subtle disappearance afterward. Jean had his suspicions of her timely leave, but no way to confirm them. Sina was left a wreck and patrols were doubled, although many simply ignored their new posts. After that, the whispers in the halls and the words on the press were of nothing but the Recon Corps. How the Commander could allow such a thing to happen, and how their suicidal tactics were nothing but a waste of government funding. What started as genuine concern over the matter soon became public smearing when several dozen MPs were killed in the pursuit of the Armored Titan, used as bait to distract lesser Titans.

He knew some of those soldiers. A lot of them were lazy and out of practice, but some were still dedicated to _something_ at the very least. Their loss left a sour taste in his mouth. Just how many sacrifices can be made in the name of humanity's revival? Jean was an idealist, but his eyes were not so misted over by passion that he thought they should fight down to the last human left alive. Only someone like Eren, in the middle of everything, would believe something so stupid.

With word spreading like it was, most of which he took with a mountainous pile of salt, Jean often wondered after the well-being of his fellow trainees from the 104th. Those who were highest ranked and by all means should have followed him into the Military Police decided to enter the Recon Corps instead. He only doubted his decision on the worst of days, but then couldn't help but wonder what it might have been like if he were with them. Could he have done something more?

The Commander was soon apprehended and put in jail, awaiting the judgment of the Royal Court. Just when it seemed that all hope was lost for that unfortunate division, newspapers from the press in Trost made their way to headquarters in Sina. What was written was beyond scandal. A partition of the Military Police was responsible for the complete assassination of their local merchant's guild and not the Recon Corps? Jean was baffled-- if such a squad existed, he had no knowledge of it. Could this pit possible grow any deeper and darker?

But this single spark soon set the entire world ablaze. Commander Erwin's inquiry ended in a full-on military coup led by Commander Zackly. The King was declared a false puppet, and the Court was disbanded. A few days and one inexplicably massive Titan later, Christa, no, _Historia_ , was crowned the new Queen of the walls.

Status-quo in the Military Police was turned on its head. Many of Jean's Captains mysteriously disappeared before things could completely settle down. Jean could only assume that they either were fleeing to their connections in the Black Market to continue on with their semi-criminal lives, or just plain didn't want to stick around for the change of hands that was inevitably going to take place.

And change they did. Every remaining Captain was demoted. Jean, who was still practically green, was promoted to Assistant Squad Leader simply for being one of very few recruits that showed any kind of personal ambition. At the young age of 16, he already had orders to give, and a Squad to look up to him in authority. His leadership capabilities would soon be put to the test.

\--

"--and not a word unless you're spoken to first. You got that, Kirstein?"

"Yes, sir."

The sound of two pairs of hard-soled boots echo loudly in the vaulted ceilings of the castle halls. Jean both loves and hates his dress uniform. While the pomp and circumstance of it suit his not-so-secret vanity, it cinches and pinches in all the most annoying places. The cuffs of his shirt are too tight, his collar too starchy, and the slightly pointed toe of his boot definitely wasn't made with his whole foot fitting in there in mind. He yearns for the uniform he wears every day, that's so worn in it fits him like a second skin.

But he's in the Queen's castle. Even her most lowly guards have had any of their rough corners sanded down and given a good spit polish. Jean is here to represent the Military Police, hand-chosen by Commander Nile to be his shadow and assistant during the yearly Forum. The heads of all the branches of the Military, as well as the Democratic Council, will be there. To say that he has to look good is a serious understatement. He has to show respect for his position, the Queen, and impress the locally elected leaders that make up the Council, all while remaining tasteful. Too ostentatious, and the press, who are allowed in the Forum to enforce transparency between the Crown and the public, are sure to make a stink about where the people's tax dollars are going.

"Remember why I chose you," his Commander continues to brief him, "if the Council had their way, they'd force every MP instated before the Queen's time to resign. You're one of the best I've got, so look good in there."

As a graduate of the 104th, Jean is technically from the very last wave of recruits that can still be considered an antiquity from before Historia's reign. But what matters is that he counts, his face is fresh, and his reputation is clean. His existence is proof that the men recruited before him aren't all as bad as the Military Police's poor public image would have some believe. They're still needed in the force.

"We can't lose any more manpower," Nile hisses between his teeth, "even after the top ten standard was eliminated, we're not getting enough fresh blood to keep the streets clean above ground, let alone take any initiative in the caverns."

"If I may, sir," Jean cautions, and Nile gives a terse nod in the opposite direction, "as necessary as it is, there isn't much glory in cleaning streets. Kids these days want to exterminate Titans in the Corps, and older cadets go into the Garrison to feed themselves with less risk of getting killed. Now that we're no longer based in strictly in Sina, getting recruited isn't an easy ticket to the upper classes like it used to be either..."

"And what does that leave us with? Entitled brats from families who have made their names in the old ranks, and lynchers with personal vendettas who need a gun to carry out their own justice."

The Commander looks like he wants to spit, but he only shakes his head. He's gone almost entirely gray in these past few years, from his head to his beard. He's taken responsibility for his division, even when everything went south. It's obviously taken its toll on his health.

"We need to keep the men we have," Jean repeats, so the idea stays fresh in his mind. More people are milling about the halls as they grow closer to the doors of the courtroom, and the appointed meeting time of the first day of the Forum, "I'll try to use our lack of presence in the underground as a bargaining tool if I get the opportunity... Any hope for an increase in budget?"

"Ha!" Nile barks, and coughs, "are you kidding me? Any day now, we're going to be fishing bullet casings out of corpses and packing them with gunpowder ourselves."

"I'll be subtle about it then."

Nile 'tsk's, and they both turn the corner into the hall where the session is about to begin.

This room used to be the old King's throne room, but the Queen found little use in a chair where one does nothing but sit. She had the place gutted, and re-purposed into a room where she could meet with her people. While she still sits at the dais in the center of the room, to either side waits her Military and her Council. Banners hang from the ceiling, the Roses, Wings, and Unicorn to the left, and Sina, Rose, and Maria to the right, sorting out who takes what place. The men then form two semi-circles around the Queen's humble seat, so all may see and speak to each other no matter where they stand. The press sits behind the throne, pencils and paper at the ready. Sketch artists are already making a quick rendition of the event.

Jean scans the area. He's more familiar with the members of the Council than he is with his fellow soldiers in the Military, since he works in the districts they represent. Sometimes he hears their complaints personally, so he recognizes some of their faces. The Garrison and the Corps work on a completely different front than he does. The Police serve the justice of the people. The others, they carry the hopes of humanity.

Still, it doesn't stop him from trying to make out anyone he might know on his side of the room. Someone new stands under the head of the Rose emblem banner. Commander Pixis was retired last year due to an onsetting illness of the brain, most likely due to his age. In his stead stands a woman with gray hair and glasses that Jean barely remembers from the raid of Trost, when he was still a cadet. Behind her are Captains and Squad Leaders aplenty, representing the sheer numbers of the Garrison. They take up more room than they're allowed.

Commander Erwin is still at the front of Corps, and a hard man to miss. Everyone in the Walls knows that face-- it's been in the papers enough that even the most uneducated wastrel in the underground can identify it. If Historia is Queen, he is her unspoken King, the hand that led her to the throne. His eyes are just as blindingly sharp as Jean can recall from the night he made his plea for recruits to join the Recon Corps, and his speech the same confident staccato. One hardly notices the fact that he still refuses to wear any prosthetic on his missing arm.

Jean's eyes search around behind the man for someone he might be able to identify, perhaps from his years in training. At first he's nearly certain that there isn't anyone, but as he passes over a beautiful blonde-haired woman that stands at the Commander's side again, they make a fleeting moment of eye-contact...

The royal herald's voice booms, and captures everyone's attention as he ushers in the Queen.

She wears a plain, white gown, unembroidered and unembellished. A simple golden circlet rests upon her brow. Historia discarded finery the moment she gained respect. But her gaze is still as fierce as a lioness'. The queen is known for her passion, border lining on hotheadedness. When Jean looks upon her, he can barely believe that this woman is the same Christa he knew, shy, smiling, self-sacrificing.

The meeting begins as she confidently addresses the room, with a voice too large for her slight chest.

\--

The contents of the Forum's first day are both extremely important and extremely boring.

Exchanging pleasantries between each group takes a torturous amount of time. The Queen acknowledges each Commander and Councilman, who in turn acknowledges the room as a whole. Formalities must be preserved, as a token of good faith and friendship. They can all go back to circumstantially despising each other after the week is through.

Then each group gives a state of affairs. The Council goes first. The state of agricultural development in Rose is always vital, and practically every predicted bushel of grain and head of cattle is accounted for. How well the crops are doing is an indicator of what the next winter will look like, and the population has had to suffer through some hard ones over the past couple of years. Even parts of Sina have been put into food production to help ease the burden.

In comparison, some of the "issues" brought up by the upper classes seem rather trite. Still, the well to do will continue to complain as long as they have tongues in their mouths. They don't take up nearly as much time, having some sense of shame. Jean wishes they had more of it when _he_ had to hear their moaning.

The underground has no official representative in the Council. Instead, each territory aboveground is supposed to manage their dealings below on a case-by-case basis. Needless to say, that isn't getting done. They blame high crime rate, and the fact that local mafias control the gates, all the while glaring towards Nile and himself, as if the Military Police currently have the resources to fix the problem.

So this is the pressure the Commander feels every day, huh? Jean gets the occasional nasty glare simply for wearing the uniform, but he's never experienced this kind of onslaught of unjustified negativity before. It's like half the room is mentally bearing down on him, but he's got nothing to answer for it. He's glad the other divisions of the Military speak before the Police do, he's going to need a second to gather his confidence.

The Garrison, while huge, has little to say today. However, the new Commander's sense of decorum is tested, and while she does not have the easy nature her predecessor was known for, she takes her job in all seriousness. Jean learns her name is Rico. It will be one to remember.

Commander Erwin is next to take precedence. The room goes completely silent in respect, and even the Queen turns her previously indifferent gaze to watch him. He personally manages a general greeting to everyone from the Corps as a whole, and states their numbers, their mission, and their progress. He makes his usual plea for more support from the Council.

Everyone listens in eager patience for the subject that has been on the minds and lips of the populace for years. The Titan Extermination Operation. Jean remembers when it began well, it was a mere few months after he was first promoted to Assistant Squad Leader that the Recon Corps took on its current mission. And all this time later, it was still far from complete. Thousands of Titans were estimated to have entered the territory of Wall Maria during the years that Shiganshina was breached. And while that compromise has since been patched, those Titans still roam free. It was decided that it would be up to the Recon Corps, who's very existence was to venture into _Titan territory_ for the sake of humanity, to clean up the remaining threat so those lands can be settled once again.

The Commander does not disappoint. But he makes an interesting diversion. With a subdued flourish of his remaining arm, he gestures to that blonde person that had caught Jean's attention earlier, motioning for them to step up, and gives them his hand to do so.

He introduces them as Captain Arlert, currently in charge of the Operation.

Arlert... It couldn't be. Armin Arlert? Jean scrutinizes him intensely, irregarding the fact that he may be caught ogling, and begins to see the similarities. The same shade of hair, the same blue eyes, blunt nose and thick eyebrows-- even his build. He'd barely grown more than a few inches, and hadn't filled out at all. And that unruly mane, just barely pulled back, had Jean mistaking him for a woman at first glance. Armin Arlert has become a Captain, and in charge of such a vitally important mission, in such a short amount of time?

There isn't a trace of fear in his stance, or in his voice as he speaks to the room. He doesn't lack an ounce of confidence. It reminds Jean of when they were stuck in that supply station, surrounded by Titans, as he shot out a plan from the top of his head that ended up saving all their lives... Perhaps this was a quality Armin had hidden inside him all along. His diction is calm, cool, even.

When Armin steps down from the stand, he looks directly at Jean. He gives something of a smile, and nods upwards. _Pay attention_ , he seems to say, silently, without even moving his lips. Did he know he was being stared at this whole time? He didn't let on, not even in the slightest.

He's right, however. Jean snaps back to when Nile takes the stand. It's unlikely he'll be called upon today, but he needs to look alert all the same. He takes a deep breath and braces himself for the worst of everyone's attentions.

\--

The meeting ends on a lukewarm note. Nothing controversial has been said, nor has anyone been allowed to let their piss out yet, so the participants are still a touch fidgety. Jean expects the shouting matches to start in earnest tomorrow. He'll have to be ready for that when it comes, so he might as well relax now. Food and lodgings in the castle have been provided for the Commanders, their Captains, and the Councilmen, so he doesn't even have to worry about taking care of himself in the meantime. Nile has already let him off the hook for the time being.

"Jean Kirstein."

A voice rings softly behind him. Jean nearly jumps in place, but pushes the urge down. He turns around.

Armin stands there, as he expected, suppressing his amusement. Just the sight of him floods Jean's thoughts with fond nostalgia. Not only is Armin the only person from the 104th that he's seen since his graduation, but he was one of the few that he got along with well during that time. He was someone that Jean would call an old friend, from their past exchanges.

"Armin. Geez," Jean runs a hand through his hair, opting for the familiarity of first names right away, "you're all about surprising me today, aren't you?"

Up close, Jean is able to get a better look at Armin's appearance. While the Recon Corps has a better reputation now than its ever had, it's dress uniform isn't quite as fancy as Jean's Police uniform. His cape is a deep blue color, to match the wings, while Jean's is a bottle green. And Armin doesn't have any spats on his boots, for one. The buttons are plain, the fabric more practical. And he notices that Armin isn't wearing his harness. But weren't the other Captains behind him wearing theirs...?

"Surprised by my rank, I assume?" His eyebrows raise thoughtfully. It doesn't seem to faze him at all, "I'll take that as a compliment. It's been... a very long time, since we last met."

"We were still cadets," Jean agrees, "damn. It was only a few years, but it feels like decades."

"The world's changed a lot since then," Armin replies, as he appraises Jean, and pauses as if considering. His eyes are deep, thoughtful, and a bit unreadable in their complexity, "it seems that we've had a reversal of fortunes, you and I."

"Huh?"

Armin stares blankly ahead for a moment, then shakes himself out of his reverie. Jean cants his head in question, but Armin shrugs him off with a slight smile.

"Would you walk with me?" Armin asks him while making a come-here gesture, "I'd like to talk with you, and there are some nice spots here in the castle. We might as well see them."

"Uh, sure. I don't have anywhere to be," Jean nods along. To be completely honest, talking to Armin is what he'd like to do most at the moment anyways, "lead on. I've never been here before."

"The Recon Corps were based here for a short time, when Historia first took the crown," Armin explains, taking Jean further into the more central, intimate halls. He notes the arhythmic sound of their footsteps, "and this isn't my first year at the Forum either. I know the ins and outs well enough."

"Not your first year as Captain? I had no idea you were moving up in the world so quick."

"I was newly assigned just a year ago. I didn't have nearly so much responsibility then," he turns another corner, pauses, and then heads straight again, "being in charge of such a large-scale operation is as mentally taxing as you would expect it to be. It's something you have to ease into slowly, and with the help of others."

"You're suited to the job," Jean remarks, and Armin looks up to him with an expression of appreciation, "you were completely confident up there in front of everybody. The Commander must really trust you."

"Thank you," he chuckles softly, "I would say something similar to you, but you didn't speak today. And I don't know your rank..."

"Squad Leader," Jean answers, "it's probably a different job in the Police than it is in the Corps, but I'm still in charge of a small unit and their daily orders."

"And why were you standing next to your Commander today?"

"Because I look good," he rolls his eyes, "It's all for budgets and resources... The Council would have all of the men recruited before the Queen's reign to resign to cut corners, assuming that we're all corrupt drunkards. I'm one of those men, so the Commander's hoping I'll make an impression."

"It's unfortunate that you're so handsome," Armin openly teases him with a sly smile, and Jean has the decency to blush, realizing what his complaints must sound like, "ah, here we are. Good. It's still the same."

The doorway that the two of them just ducked through leads to a spot Jean would never have expected to exist so far into the castle's interior. He suddenly feels the sun on his cheeks, and can smell fresh air as they step out into a garden of all things, with a stone path, and its most prominent feature being a bubbling fountain in its center. The walls are lined with meticulously kept rose bushes, just in season and blooming gloriously. All in all, the outside-inside room isn't very big, but it impresses in all the right ways.

"This spot seems to be at its most beautiful during the time that the Forum is held," Armin explains, taking slow, conscious steps, looking down at his feet "I don't know if that's done on purpose, but I appreciated it my first year here."

"It's nice," Jean replies, lacking the poetry to properly express how impressed he is. He takes in all the details, his gaze lingering here and there, and it conveys his interest instead. Armin sits down and watches him as he touches a silky petal between his thumb and forefinger.

"You've grown thoughtful over the years."

Jean looks away from the flower he's examining as he's addressed. Armin's slight hand on the smooth stone looks like an invitation to sit. He does, arranging his cape so he doesn't get it dirty.

"Yeah? What do you mean?"

"When we were cadets, you used to express your every feeling to everyone. Especially displeasure. You were..." Armin twirls his hand in the air as a vague gesture, "you know. A little more than just sincere. But you seem to have developed introspection."

" _Thanks_ ," Jean winces in earnest, and Armin grins apologetically, "looks like you still know how to fire a gun silently. I seriously felt that one."

"I honestly meant it as a compliment. I remember you and Eren, constantly at each other's throats over every word..."

Armin's words drift off, and he looks down. His eyes mist over in that same expression as before, as if trying to look somewhere very, very far away.

"Armin?"

His gaze jolts back up. For the shortest second, he doesn't look like he knows where he is. But that soon fades as he sees Jean's expression of slightly bewildered concern.

"Ah--Aha," he laughs, strained, and he swallows hard. Barely-concealed self-derision twists his face into a wry smile as he tries to cover everything up, "excuse me, it was only a memory. I meant... What I meant to say was that it looks like you've really grown up."

Armin looks away again, although this time obviously of his own volition. Jean doesn't want to let him stew in whatever mire of thought that's bogging him down for a second more than he has to. He claps a firm hand on Armin's shoulder, drawing his gaze back in surprise.

"It's okay. Whatever's up right now..." because something's definitely up, Jean isn't blind, "you don't have to worry about it around me."

Armin's expression undergoes a multitude of nearly imperceptible changes, his eyes softening, his smile becoming more genuine. Some of the self-hatred melts away and it carries a measure of appreciation towards Jean.

"Hm. Definitely more thoughtful," Armin hums, and reaches to take Jean's hand in both of his own. He rubs his thumbs over the hard calluses on his palms, "and look at that. Still keeping up with training, I see. That's admirable."

"Some of the more resourceful criminals out there have 3D gear," Jean replies, obviously proud of himself, " especially in the underground. Gotta stay sharp."

But he notices something odd, as Armin's hands are on his.

"Hey, what about--"

Before he can speak his question, he's surprised out of his words as Armin brings his hand up towards his face and presses his soft lips against his knuckles. It's not a simple peck, as a man would do in respect of a lady, but a thoughtful motion as Armin closes his eyes, tucks some of his long hair behind his ear, and runs his fingers up along the underside of Jean's wrist. He turns his palm upwards, and then kisses the heel of his hand, far more sensitive, and a little shock sparks up his arm.

Armin opens his eyes, and his expression is sultry, wanting, and somehow... tired. But it soon fades into muted amusement as he sees the look on Jean's face. He gently lowers both of their hands so he may speak.

"I thought that my intentions were clear from the beginning. You've proven your affection well enough for me, and have no ring of betrothal... Am I not allowed to court you?"

" _Court?_ " the word comes out at a higher octave than Jean would have liked, and Armin laughs, "Shit, Armin, can I have a second?"

"We've only a few days. After that, we're more than likely not to see each other again. I'm afraid I have to be a little bold."

Jean heaves an exasperated sigh, and pulls a hand over his face.

"I'm supposed to be keeping my nose clean..."

"There's not much to be said for a discreet bit of buggery. I can personally guarantee each head in that Forum has their own fun on the side," Armin explains, barely able to contain a smirk as he continues to embarrass Jean, "but we can leave things as they are for the day, if you like."

"That-- that's probably a good idea," Jean sighs, and Armin nods. It's better than being shut out completely.

"Of course. By tomorrow, you'll be so sick of politics and old men shouting at each other that you'll be begging to see me."

"Probably," Jean shrugs, with such a cross look that Armin can't help but laugh.

"Alright, alright. I'll take my leave."

Armin pushes up from his seat, and Jean stands too, meaning to at least see him out. The blonde looks over his shoulder and smiles. His boot catches on a bit of raised cobblestone.

Normally, a person would simply stumble a bit and catch themselves. But Armin clearly panics. He throws his other foot forward, and stomps down, but continues to fall on his other. He will soon end up on his hands and knees.

Jean catches him around his middle before that can happen. Armin "oof"s as it crushes the air out of him.

"You okay?"

He tries to pull him up to stand, but Armin shakes his head, still leaning very heavily against Jean.

"Yes, but... I'm afraid that it's come loose."

Loose? What could-- he hears a clatter, and looks down.

Armin's boot is on the floor, attached to the lower half of a prosthetic limb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please leave a kudos or a comment! They're what keeps me going!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling you get when you're writing and you're like, "wow, this _sucks_ ," but you've done your best and there's nothing you can do about it? That's me and this chapter. I think I set the bar a little too high with the first one.
> 
> This one starts off in the past tense (which I hate, it's so hard to write in), and as long as it stays there, we're talking about the past. It moves back to present later when we... Return to the present. Just so you know!

Ever since he first slid down a Titan's throat, but was saved, and given a precious miracle, a second chance in all respects... Armin felt like he'd been living on someone else's borrowed time. Too many close calls, too many times when, by all reason, someone as unskilled and clumsy as him should have been killed. Living was too kind to him when it was unkind to everyone around him. He did not know how he survived. Whether it be the fortune of the gods, or being surrounded by those who vowed to protect him...

Eventually, his time ran out.

It wasn't during a moment of glory, or a risky campaign. It only took a few missteps, and an unfavorable roll of the Fate's dice during a day that would otherwise be normal procedure. They were galloping at high speeds, evading a pack of Titans. His horse was caught in a mire, and bucked him. The terrain was flat, and there was nowhere for him to grapple and escape to.

There were too many of them. Even when the Captain and Mikasa doubled back, and Eren transformed, it was already too late. He could feel the Titan's blunt teeth clamp down around his leg as he saw them rush towards him, the world hanging upside-down.

What he felt then was blessedly short. He remembered a pain so vivid he could see its white color behind his eyelids, and the tangy bile of terror rushed into his mouth... And then, nothing.

Mikasa later told him that he screamed ceaselessly as they pulled his body out from under the Titans corpse, with his eyes wide open, but he didn't remember a second of it. A kindness, he assumed. Living in the memory of such an atrocity would undoubtedly be difficult.

Still, his first moments of real consciousness were entirely unwanted. His mouth so dry it was glued shut, and lined with a rotten taste. Horrible hot pain throbbed through his body with every beat of his failing heart, and he could only whimper and plead for death in his muddled thoughts. He had no concept of time passing, only suffering, for what felt like an eternity.

"Fight, Armin... You have to fight!"

Eventually, the words seemed to break through to him. He would open his eyes, try to talk, or struggle to take the water or broth that was offered to him (even if he vomited half of it back up).

Against all odds, his health improved. His muscles were still wasting, and he was highly anemic, but he was responding, and that was the first near-impossible step on the road to recovery. It was incredible, considering the majority of those who suffer such terrible wounds die very quickly.

Armin found out that for the stretch of days that he did not stir, both Eren and Mikasa refused to leave his side. They had important work to do in the Special Operations Squad, and were supposed to be on assignment, but were practicing blatant insubordination to stay with him. They wouldn't go until his life was no longer in danger. Anything that they could possibly be doing at the time was insignificant in the face of knowing that Armin even _might_ be dead.

When he finally had enough presence of mind to process a coherent thought, he was unspeakably grateful for them. The touch of familiar hands was so comforting. They personally took care of every need that was within their means. There wasn't a moment where he was alone, even in the middle of the night. Their vigil continued unbroken.

So when Armin first saw Levi after waking up, he expected him to be furious. But his Captain looked down on him with what looked like sympathy, pity, and a touch of regret. He spoke to Eren and Mikasa privately, too softly for him to hear.

It was Squad Leader Hange that explained his new condition to him. His left leg was gone, below the knee. They amputated any remnants the Titan might have left behind cleanly off. He could walk again, with plenty of time to recover, and intensive therapy with a prosthetic leg. But...

There was no way he would ever use 3 Dimensional Maneuver Gear again. It required extremely fine motor control in the legs in order to balance properly. Without feeling in his left "foot", he wouldn't know when to shift his weight to stay true in flight.

That's when it hit him. Why no-one else had brought it up yet, why _he_ hadn't even thought--

Live or die, it didn't matter. It was done. His days in the Corps were over. There was no way the Squad would lug a handicapped soldier like him around, no matter how brilliant his brain could be. And the consequences of that simple fact rippled out wide.

Eren and Mikasa couldn't continue to refuse orders forever. Eventually, Levi's Squad would have to return to action. Far, far away from tiny world Armin was about to be confined to. For the first time in his life, Armin was about to be separated from his best friends. His family. His life support. He would have no idea of their well-being. No hand in the movement of their destinies. No chance of seeing that horizon, seeing the canopy of night-lights, seeing the ocean...

His unwitting denial flashed into anger like lightning. He lashed out, first at nothing, then at the world, then at the person most obviously deserving of blame: himself. He replayed the moment he was caught in his head over and over again until the reels of film in his mind wore thin, hands fisted in his hair, wondering what he could have done better, if only he had another chance. If he just had an extra minute, an extra second, if he could go back; he didn't even need the experience he had now, if only he had the _time_.

He realized the pointlessness of his thoughts as they occurred, but they did not stop. All sorts of ridiculous what-ifs raced through his mind, impossible scenarios that would allow him to continue living his current life, and each new one caused him more grief than the last. He wound in circles like this until he was absolutely exhausted.

Armin didn't speak for the rest of that day. He felt a weight settle down on him, cold and strangely hollow. Eren and Mikasa still did not leave him, they crowded around close as he wept and shook without a sound, and they wept themselves as they realized what the future held for them.

The day soon came. They separated quickly, like a skilled cauterization. Increase the pain to heal quickly. Eren, in particular, acted like he was being torn in two; he bared his teeth in anger and fought tears as he was forced out of Armin's room. But strangely enough, Armin didn't feel much at all, despite the obvious suffering of his friends. It would be like trying to cry when one was dunked underwater. He was already drowning in it.

\--

Catatonia set in soon after Armin was abandoned by his squad. His expressive, curious nature was smothered by a dark resignation. He never asked for company, spoke little to the nurses that continued to treat him, and ignored the books and other pittances that were offered to him. What they could give him wasn't what he truly wanted. While the Captain had done everything in his power to secure his comfort before he left, any substitute seemed stupid and pointless.

Eventually, he healed up enough to be placed in a wheelchair. Armin would wheel himself up to the window in his room, and stare out of it for hours. He wasn't sure if it really made things better or worse, just that it was habitual, and that was somewhat comforting.

From time to time, he would receive letters, along with the bare amount of intelligence the Corps would get from Squad Levi, personally addressed to him from Eren, Mikasa, and the others. He did not open them; he knew reading their contents would only provoke his self-hatred, ugly and writhing, and with no outlet, it would fester for days.

He already had the occasional urge to throw himself from his little window. He didn't need any more encouragement. He felt their love and care from the act alone, so he stuffed the letters in a drawer and let them slowly accumulate untouched.

Regardless, it wasn't as though he could write a reply. What would he tell them? He couldn't think of anything other than the truth, and he didn't want to worry them with his depressing drivel while they had more important things to focus on.

As days past, he only grew more and more reclusive, and retreated further inside himself. Even after his wound fully healed, he didn't bother to start training himself to use a prosthetic. His life wouldn't be any different from the life he had confined to this chair, so what was the point?

It was another one of those days, so much the same as the others that he was forgetting their names, that he received the first visit to truly surprise him since his accident.

"Come in," he replied flatly to the knock at his door. He expected a nurse, a courier, or someone of the like.

He did not expect the Commander of the Recon Corps itself.

When Erwin Smith entered the room, he looked like he was too big to fit in it. He took up space, by no fault of his stature, but his confidence. It existed in and around him, like a glow. No matter where he went, he could convince that he was supposed to be there through sheer force of his presence.

His eyes scanned the room, gave a proper pause, and then settled on Armin.

"Armin Arlert, correct?"

"Y-yes, sir!"

He jumped in his seat, and clumsily angled his chair back towards Erwin. The instinct to respect his Commander proved to be alive and well in Armin as he threw a hasty salute without thinking. It felt so odd to have his fist over his heart again. He looked down at himself and noticed his complete lack of uniform, his general state of disarray... What a miserable sight.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting any visitors..."

"No, it's alright," Erwin raised his hand up in apology, "I'm imposing upon you. It would have been proper of me to send word, but I didn't have the time."

"It's fine," Armin volleyed back, but Erwin let the game of prudence end there as Armin wheeled his way around to the only other place in the room to sit, a useless desk-chair, "I'm afraid I can't move it, but if you'd like to sit..."

"Thank you," the Commander nodded, and pulled said chair out himself as Armin rolled out of the way. It was just then, as he used only one hand, that he even remembered that Erwin was missing an arm. He was so good at making his unevenness look natural, "tell me, how is your wound? I see you're still not on your feet."

"It's. Um..." Armin looked down, flushed with shame, "it's healed, sir. The flesh has knit back together, and the stitches are out. It only pains me," _physically_ , he'd like to add, "occasionally."

"That's good. I was sorry to hear that Levi's squad suffered your loss when you were first admitted to the hospital," Erwin said, and Armin bunched his hands up into fists on his lap, "you were an integral part of their brain. You may have been all of it. It's been difficult to find your replacement-- if such a thing were possible."

A petty sense of satisfaction reared itself up in Armin as he heard that. He hoped they would never find his "replacement."

"I'm sorry that I allowed myself to become incapacitated like this," Armin spoke bitterly, and had never meant anything more sincerely in his life, "I'm afraid I'm nothing more than a waste of resources to the Corps now."

"Nonsense. I've come to you today because I'd like to put you back to work."

To hear such words come Erwin's mouth sent a jolt of energy up Armin's spine. For a moment, something like hope overcame him, and the world regained its color.

...But only for a moment. He quickly realized that Erwin couldn't possibly mean active duty. Still, it was encouraging to know that he hadn't lost the ability to feel quite yet. The Commander seemed to have noticed his little change in disposition, as he regarded him appraisingly. Armin let his fingers curl around the ends of his armrests.

"I couldn't possibly refuse an order from Erwin Smith," he replied, "What would you have me do?"

"I'd like to make you my personal assistant," Erwin began, leaning forward and bringing one arm up as if to meet it's match and lace his fingers together, but instead props his chin on the back of his hand, "Not particularly glamorous, I know, but I've been short of help as of late. All of our hands are out in the field. And I know you have a proclivity towards mentally challenging tasks."

"And," he added, in a conspiratorial tone, "if you do well, I would see no reason not to promote you to a higher rank, to take on more difficult work. We have... problems that could use your unique talents in solving."

Armin sat straight up in his chair, eyes wide. To be made assistant to the Commander was enough of an honor, but talk of promotion, when only a few minutes ago he thought he would be good for nothing for the rest of his days? Erwin couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction.

"I wouldn't think that far ahead yet though," he finished, and Armin blinked out of his reverie, "for now, I just need someone to help me with the day-to-day."

"I-- of course. Whatever I can do, I'm yours."

It was the first time in weeks he had agreed to do anything, even leave his room. The persuasive power of his Commander was not to be denied, but even more than that, Armin yearned to be useful again. For humanity.

"Very good, soldier," Erwin affirmed, "I'll just need one more thing from you, then."

Armin looked to him expectantly, asking in silence.

"You'll have to at least be able to make it up and down stairs to keep up with me while I'm at headquarters. In time, I'd also like it if you could re-learn horseback riding, and follow me to more remote locations inside human territory."

"So a wheelchair won't do. You'll need to learn to use a leg... Unless you'd like to be pushed in circles by a one-armed man."

A laugh choked its way out of Armin's throat. Sure, it was due to his self-percieved ridiculousness, but it had been so long. Those muscles had been left unused, and it didn't sound quite right. Armin could only imagine what his face looked like. Erwin raised his eyebrows.

"Ah... I'm sorry," Armin coughed politely into his fist, "I will. I've nothing against it. I'll start the therapy immediately."

"Glad to hear it. Now then..."

Erwin stood, and offered his hand to Armin. He grasped it for a sturdy shake.

"I'm afraid I have to make myself scarce. But I'll send for someone to gather you and your things from here in the next couple of days. It's not much of a trip from here to where I'm stationed, I know, but I'd like to keep you close from now on."

"Of course, sir."

So he'd be taken away from his window. It was for the better. He couldn't sit here and watch birds forever, with the yearning to fly still inside of him.

\--

Becoming Erwin's shadow proved to be the best medicine Armin could have asked for. It was not Eren or Mikasa, nor was it his dream to see the new world, but it was work. Work for the Recon Corps, and humanity, the only kind of work he was likely to accept.

Armin took care of the Commander's secretarial duties. He would take messages for him while he was out, and keep all of his perpetually piling paperwork in line. Occasionally, Erwin would take him with to their stores to follow behind with a clipboard in hand, and keep count of all the supplies declared. When the day was through, he would write reports for him through dictation. After he got used to working so close to his superior, Armin would even offer his personal solutions to the various problems presented.

It distracted him from his sorrows and forced him to face others for the first time in what felt like ages. He had a purpose, however small. He was a semi-functioning human being again.

The prosthetic leg was not so terrible. It was very difficult to get used to, like having an always-asleep foot that doesn't move, but he had the good fortune to still have his limb above the knee. He could bend if he needed to, and the contraption hid well under his uniform's boot. After several weeks of persistent self-training, he could walk on it comfortably, and slowly climb up and down stairs. Erwin was kind and patient with him as he learned, often ready as a spotter on tricky terrain.

Learning to ride a horse again was a different story. Armin was unsaddled. A lot. The beasts seemed to realize that one of his legs wasn't real, and that spooked them. In the end, he was only able to ride one old mare that was previously employed in teaching small children how to ride, and couldn't be forced to buck with a whip at her flanks. Not exactly a Corps-worthy horse, but she was at least a little faster than running. Armin grew fond of her and treated her like a pet.

And so life went, through the autumn and winter. It was slow and quiet. Armin continued to receive letters (which he still could not bring himself to read), but Levi's squad had yet to return to Headquarters. If anything, from what he heard, it looked like they were getting further and further afield. He spent his first New Year alone, but his spirit, thoughts, and prayers were with them.

When spring blew in, and he first truly warm days of the season thawed the ground and coaxed the earth back to life, Erwin began to prepare Armin for the yearly Forum. His responsibilities would be a little more broad, and while his charge was nothing but polite, he needed to make sure he knew the proper decorum for such a meeting. He hadn't been in castle Sina since Historia took her reign.

Having grown up in a backwater boarder-town like Shiganshina, Armin was a little blown back by how grandiose the occasion was, especially for something that wasn't a celebration. And this was supposed to be toned down from how things used to be, before the Coup.

During the first day of greetings, as he stood up front next to Erwin, he was able to give Historia a little smile. They were friends, once. She looked at him directly, acknowledging that she had seen, but she did not smile back. Her position prevented her from doing so. Armin respected that.

After a hard day's work, and Erwin dismissed him, he would wander the halls and grounds. They were like tiny catacombs, twisting and winding in a way that only the servants and guards understood. He saw old paintings and tapestries, stumbled upon a small library written entirely in the Old Language, and even ended up in the tallest spire, after an exhausting trip up a never-ending flight of stairs, where there was nothing but a dusty chair and a complicated telescope of which the likes he'd never seen, pointed toward the night sky.

But his favorite spot was much more simple in nature. In the middle of the castle, where you would least expect it, the ceiling and sky opened up above to nurture a garden below. It was lined with rose bushes, beautiful and in their first spectacular spring bloom, and in the center of the stone path sat a fountain, bubbling contemplatively. He ended up coming here when he was done with his duties and exploration, the stars hanging overhead, light trickling in from the windows, playing on the rose petals and rippling water.

Some things inside the Walls were wonderful too. It served to soothe his loneliness. He detached himself from his sorrows and let his consciousness float on the burbling sound, amplified by the structure of the walls around him.

On the last day of the Forum, Armin came to say goodbye to his garden. He sat on the edge of the fountain and sunk his fingertips into the water. The sensation was lovely and cool.

"I suppose I'll see you next year."

He was bidding farewell to places now, like they were friends? What a solitary creature he's grown to become.

Before he could rise to leave, Armin could hear the footsteps of someone's approach. He was surprised to see Erwin, of all people. He gathered himself up to stand, but the Commander held out a hand to stay him.

"So this is where you've been all this time," he remarked, and took in the sights for himself, closing the space between them with a few weighty steps, "one would think I'd know exactly where to find you by now. You always find some place to sequester yourself off, like a lady from a higher house."

Armin knew when Erwin was ribbing him. He ducked his head and gave a slight smile.

"I nearly fit the part. I'm turning a lily-white, from all this time indoors."

Erwin gave the smallest sound of concession. He didn't know why he choose such difficult personalities in his subordinates, but Armin was as bad as the rest. An eccentric with exceptional talent.

"Never mind that," he shook his head, and came to sit next to Armin, "I wanted to commend you on a job well done this week. You made my job much easier."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad. It was..." Armin paused, pondering how to phrase his thoughts, "an experience. I was aware of the intricacies of relations between the Crown, Military and people from my work with you, but I've never been in the thick of it like that before. Just one word can mean so much, one way or another."

"Temperamental, aren't they?"

Erwin interpreted his careful wording perfectly. Armin could only hide his smirk by looking away.

"They've barely changed over the past few years. But I'm not about to waste you on trivial burocracy. You were too good for this position from the start," he said, and caught Armin's attention, "I need you doing a strategist's work."

Armin took up the role of Captain not long after, placed in charge of the Titan Extermination Project. He was a controversial choice, considering his disability, but he would come to prove himself in the hard months ahead.

\--

"Shit, Armin, _shit!_ "

He instinctually tries to pull Armin away to sit on the nearby stone ledge, but his arm is gripped like a vice and the blonde shakes his head sharply-- no, of course not. He can't magically walk just because he has help. He's missing a limb! Jean is stuck in place, holding Armin up, who's wobbling dangerously on one leg.

"Fuck. I, uh," Jean swallows nervously, trying his best to steady the man in his arms, "sorry. What should I do?"

Armin doesn't answer right away. He looks away from Jean and takes a few deep breaths.

"...If you could pick me up, and put me down to sit. Please."

"--right, right."

With the utmost respect, he leans down to scoop Armin up with one arm behind his knee and the other behind his shoulders. It only takes a few steps to set him down where they were sitting before. Jean then goes the extra mile and retrieves the false leg lying on the ground. He can't see most of it, since it's still stuck in a boot, but the upper half obviously attaches to something. Armin snatches it from him with greedy hands.

He's trembling, and has his head angled away from Jean. Jean doesn't try to look around him and find his eyes. The man at least deserved that small privacy.

"You don't..." he starts, and can't think of a good way to finish. Like he had a right to tell Armin how he should feel about anything.

"It doesn't bother me."

He can at least make sure statements about himself. However, it does bother Armin. It's easy to tell, even looking from the outside in. That lost leg is the root of something planted deep in his mind, twisting and gnarled and engrained. Who knows where its branches spread.

Armin makes a shuddering noise, and Jean thinks it might have been a laugh, if you sucked all the joy out of the sound. It's then that he questions what he's seeing for the first time; does he really know the person before him at all? But he still wants to dig down to the center. He wants to find out who they are.

"Not like this," Armin mutters, turning back towards him just a little, "you weren't supposed to find out like this. I haven't tripped up like this in ages. How pathetic."

"It's not," Jean tries to assure him, "I had no idea. I mean, when you were standing up there today, and when we were walking. And this is just... whatever, you know? Shit happens."

"...What an enviable state of mind," Armin concedes, rolls his shoulders and sits up straight again. The movement is slow, like he's pushing up against a weight, "Shit happens, huh? I haven't heard such a simple thought from someone in years."

"You really have to stop it with the subtle potshots. It's going to get you in serious trouble someday."

Armin laughs more sincerely now, at the look on Jean's face, who's had just about enough of his sass for one day.

"I beg your forgiveness," he chuckles, raising one hand in a consoling manner, "please don't abandon me quite yet. I'd have to crawl all the way back to my quarters."

"You can't just put it back on here?" Jean asks, and Armin shakes his head.

"I'd have to take off my pants, for one," Armin explains, and Jean thinks to himself, yeah, you probably don't want to do that in the middle of the Queen's castle, "and there's a certain tool I have to use that tightens the joint, sort of like a wrench. I don't have it on me right now."

"So... do you need a lift?"

Armin shrugs in reply, ambivalent but slightly cross.

"It looks like I don't have much choice."

"Alright. Here," Jean doesn't waste any time, and gets down on one knee, his back facing Armin with his hands curved behind him to act as supports, "think you can stay on with just one leg?"

"We'll see," Armin says, and Jean feels him tentatively shift himself onto his back, sitting on his hands and holding his arms around his neck. His trick leg and boot are still in one hand. Jean stands, and everything settles well. Armin doesn't slip out of his grasp.

"All good?" Jean asks, looking over his shoulder, and Armin nods, "where to?"

"I'm down this corridor, and then up to the second floor. All that's up there is accommodations. The Recon Corps are grouped together in the east wing."

Jean nods, and starts off. That's not very far away. And Armin is as light as he looks, just a featherweight with no bulk or muscle.

They travel in silence, but about halfway up the stairs, Jean poses a question.

"You said that you didn't want me to find out about this the way that I did, yeah?"

"Yes...?" Armin answers warily.

"If you could have had it any way you liked, how would you have done it?"

"Ha! Not by tripping and falling, I'll tell you that much," he hums in bitter amusement. Jean can feel the vibration against the shell of his ear, "it's never easy. The wounds are... deeper, than what you can see. But I had hoped to have a little more time to gain your favor before you found out. The stronger I prove myself, the less people think of my disability when it's revealed to them. It would have been refreshing, with someone like you, outside of the Corps and ignorant to my past."

"But here I am, totally helpless. I'm going to have to start from the ground up. In both your mind and my own."

"There's a difference between being helpless and needing help," Jean remarks, "I already think you're stronger than the Armin I remember from when we were cadets."

He can't see Armin's expression from here, but he can feel the emotion in the pause he takes.

"Thank you. I... appreciate the thought."

"No problem," Jean replies, and turns a corner, "am I in the right pl-- _oh_."

There, standing in the hall, is Commander Erwin. If Jean didn't have his hands full, he would have saluted. The man turns his attention towards them, and then to Armin specifically.

"Are you alright, Captian?"

"Yes, sir," Armin replies, "I just had an unfortunate trip. Squad Leader Kirstein here was kind enough to give me a hand. Now... My room is over here, on the left."

Armin points, and Jean follows his direction, nodding in deference to Erwin as they pass him by. He looks over his shoulder to watch them enter Armin's room, but doesn't say anything else. Jean closes the door behind him.

"He's terrifying," Jean admits, shivering, and Armin chuckles again. He's used to the grumpy, disheveled Nile, not the perpetually intense Erwin, "and you work with him all the time?"

"Constantly, for the past couple of years. You get used to how blinding he is after awhile. Now, could you set me down on my bed?"

Jean gently deposits him there, while getting a quick look at the state of his room. It couldn't be called anything other than organized chaos. Maps, books, papers and other forms of report are scattered about every open space. Considering the importance of the Extermination Project, he must have to take his work with him where-ever he goes.

"You good now?" he turns to Armin, who takes a moment, and then nods.

"Thank you," he repeats, "I know today wasn't exactly ideal, but, I would like to meet you again..."

"Yeah, sure," Jean says without a second's thought or hesitation, and it soothes Armin, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes," he smiles, warmly, "tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Please, if you liked this chapter, leave a kudos or a comment! Especially comments, they energize me and help me out so much. I appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long (and it's just slightly shorter than I would have hoped, oops) but I wasn't exactly sure how to move the plot forward for awhile. I think I've got it now!
> 
> Please don't mind them being slightly goofy near the end there I just... Can't help myself.

Jean closes the door behind him and heaves a silent sigh. What a day. Attending the Forum was exhausting enough, but Armin... That was far, far worse. He rarely had emotional dealings with his own men that intense... "Never" is probably more accurate, when he thinks about it. The lingering look of despair in his eyes was crushing all on its own. How did that happen? It was due to his leg, of course, and he didn't need to know the exact details of how the wound came to be, but what did that cause?

He remembers their time as cadets. Armin never smiled much, but he can recall seeing the expression on his face. What was the difference, the variable--

"Kirstein, was it?"

He jolts in his boots for what feels like the thousandth time that day. Lost in thought, he completely forgot Erwin was still in the hallway. The Commander is done with whatever conversation he was having with another blue-cloaked Corpsman, and seems to be lingering around for the express purpose of speaking to Jean.

"Y-yes, sir," Jean straightens his posture and throws a proper salute this time, "Squad Leader, first division."

"At ease, soldier," Erwin waves his hand in dismissal, and Jean relaxes somewhat, "thank you for assisting Captain Arlert. He doesn't normally need anyone's help, but accidents do happen... I trust what he told me is true?"

So he's looking out for Armin personally. He wasn't lying when he said they work together closely. Jean gives a curt nod.

"Yes. We were speaking in the gardens, and he faltered when he stood up," he recounts truthfully, "I caught him before he could fall, but his prosthetic came loose."

"You were speaking?" Erwin raises his brow at him, "and I assume you started this conversation?"

What an odd question. Jean would make his skepticism a little more evident if he weren't talking to someone so much his superior.

"No, he came to me after today's talks were over."

Erwin gives him another critical look, narrowing his eyes at Jean, until realization strikes.

"...Ah, I remember now. You were in the 104th, weren't you?"

That night was hard to forget. When he pleaded for assistance from the handful of cadets that survived the raid of Trost. The image of those terrified faces was etched into his memory. It was also the last time recruitment was handled in such a way.

"Yes, sir. Captain Arlert and I trained together."

"So that's why," Erwin mutters under his breath, and Jean just barely catches his words, "well, it's good to hear he still knows how to start a conversation. I trust you weren't too shocked by his handicap?"

"Err... no. At least not enough to run away screaming, sir."

Erwin doesn't audibly laugh, but his shoulders rattle in amusement.

"Good enough. You have my thanks, Kirstein. Arlert is an invaluable resource to the Corps, and he doesn't speak to or accept help from just anyone. I'm glad that you were there."

"It wasn't a problem," he answers, and Erwin gives him a solid nod.

"You're dismissed."

Jean salutes him again and turns to leave. That was so unexpected he nearly forgot what he was thinking about beforehand. But from what Erwin said, it sounds like Armin is a solitary, lonely sort of person. Why does that seem so wrong? He tries to bring up the past again, and when he saw Armin's happy face...

He remembers people standing next to him. Two people, to be exact, almost every time. Two people that aren't here now. Eren. Mikasa.  
Everything clicks into place.

Why aren't Eren and Mikasa here? They must be on some important mission, of course. Why isn't Armin with them? Because of his leg, however that happened.

And so, he isn't smiling anymore.

It feels like the cause is much deeper than that. There are still things about Armin that Jean doesn't know-- he's missed whole years in-between after all. A person can develop complexes a mile wide in that amount of time. But the conclusion that he just came to must have been the start of it.

Yet, Armin talked to him. He reached out when Erwin made it clear that that's something he doesn't do anymore. There was something about Jean that made him want to try again.

What a frightening burden. Has he just been chosen for a task that he might not be fully equipped to handle?

Jean tosses and turns in bed that night, and he feels like a child for doing so. He's never been so bent out of shape over a chance meeting before. But he can't forget the sensation of Armin's gentle lips on his hand, or the way he trembled in his arms as he carried him.

\--

"The Underground must be taken under martial control! The black market continues to unfairly compete with the local economies; the prices of luxuries and medicines are being determined by criminals!"

"The Military Police can't be stretched any further than it already has been! We're undermanned and underfunded-- we can barely keep up with petty crime above ground in our current state!"

Jean didn't expect a fire to be lit under Police's asses so soon. It's only the second day of the Forum, and the Council is already at their throats for problems they have little to no control over. Everyone knows about the deplorable state of the Underground; it had been touched upon yesterday, and now the argument has become the main topic of debate.

"Undermanned, or undermotivated? It's widely known that the men of the Police are less than scrupulous..."

Nile is most definitely growing new gray hairs as he tries to fend off his aggressors, bristling like a porcupine at such accusations.  
\  
"I will _not_ be forced to stand here and listen to such slander! My men--"

"Commander," Jean leans in to whisper to Nile, and makes a rolling motion with his eyes. Nile lets out a long, aggravated breath through his nose and takes a step back. This is why he had brought his Squad Leader with him in the first place. Jean takes the podium.

"If the room will excuse me," he begins, looking out to benches full of men who would like nothing more than to have his head. The hairs on his arms and neck prickle, "My name is Jean Kirstein, Squad Leader first division. I graduated from the 104th cadets squad."

That last bit catches the attention of quite a few of the Councilmen, just as they had hoped it would. There's a mythos surrounding the 104th, considering that they survived the raid of Trost as cadets, as well as gave birth to famous names such as Yaeger and Ackerman. He gains some confidence, and he squares his shoulders before he launches into the speech he's been preparing to make, ready to live up to expectations.

"I understand the suspicions and misgivings the populace holds towards the Military Police. I freely admit that our organization was not always an honorable one. The recruitment practices used before Queen Historia's reign were meant to funnel the best soldiers away from the front lines, and the culture perpetuated by the Captains encouraged sloppiness until those soldiers were made useless. I was there. I saw it happen."

Jean can practically feel Nile holding back his wince behind him. He was still commander back then. Some of the men before him openly scoff-- if he admits to a lack of decorum the Police had in the past, who's to say they're any different now?

"This was all done to benefit the failed Monarchy! Keeping our most talented cadets out of the Garrison and the Corps by promising them a cushy life in Sina..." a cadet that I used to be, he thinks to himself bitterly, "it furthered the King's agenda to keep us all inside of these walls forever."

"But things changed. Quickly and dramatically. As soon as news of the coup hit the presses, we lost nearly all of our commanding officers, and close to half of our men. As soon as they had even the slightest inclination that their lifestyle would no longer be supported, they disappeared. Any layabouts that you think still exist left our ranks a long, long time ago. And we have yet to regain the numbers we once had."

"And do you know where those men went? Back to the Underground, to their contacts in the Black Market! We have information that confirms that many of the Mafia bosses controlling access to goods were once Captains in the old Military Police. Are we to be held responsible for the past mistakes of the Crown, with only half the men we need, and no financial assistance?"

"The new policies created under Queen Historia have only decreased crime because we have been there to stop it! But we're overworked and stretched too thin! I maintain that in our current state, we do not have enough resources to tackle the problem of illegal trafficking the Underground."

Jean pauses to let his words sink in. Councilmen are muttering and shifting around, looking amongst themselves nervously. He's at least gotten them to think, which is better than the mindless shouting matches that were going on moments before.

"If there are any questions or complaints, they can be directed towards the Commander or myself."

Some more furtive whispering goes on before anyone has the mind to speak.

"How are we going to address the situation, then?"

"We need more men first," Jean states plainly, "however that may be accomplished."

"But we can't possibly raise taxes any higher! The new land tax nearly drove our farmers to rebel!"

"The next wave of cadets doesn't graduate for at least another two months," Commander Rico adds, looking at a sheaf of papers in her hand.

"Then we're going to have to wait for more cadets," Nile takes over this time, "but that could take more than one graduating squad, considering the meager amount of recruits we get these days."

"That could take nearly a year," another representative sputters, "people can't go without medicine for that long! The market could end up completely cornered in that amount of time!"

"Then we're going to need to find some kind of solution before then," Jean interjects, "whether it be raising taxes so we can get our hands on better equipment, or re-allocating manpower within the Military..."

"May I ask a few questions?"

Until now, the Recon Corps' corner has been silent today, since they're completely disconnected from the going-ons of the Police. When Armin speaks up, the room falls into curious quiet. Erwin nods to his protege, as if they've already discussed what is about to be said, and Armin takes the stand.

"Who here is the most familiar with the geography of the Underground?"

There's another minute of murmuring before anyone feels confident enough to answer his question. One of the Councilmen steps up.

"Each district is responsible for their own section. Whatever is directly below them. So the knowledge is split up between us."

"So there aren't any documents mapping or describing the Underground in its entirety? Are the districts not connected in any way?"

"...That information must be available somewhere," the representative admits, "I do know that the Underground districts are connected by tunnels, but those junctions are also controlled by the Mafia."

"And are there any tunnels that would connect the territory of Wall Rose to the territory of Wall Maria?"

"Yes. Far underneath the above-ground gates at each of the four cardinal districts. Although the underground cities in the territory of Wall Maria have not been used for any official reason since the Titans took the area, and we have no idea who or what could be there..."

"That's all I need to know," Armin nods firmly, and then raises his voice so that everyone can clearly hear him when he says:

"It is in the best interest of the Recon Corps and the Titan Extermination Project that the Underground be taken back under martial control. As such, the Corps provide the manpower needed to make this goal a reality."

There is no uproar, no cry of complaint. The Forum falls into confused silence. The Recon Corps, putting their hands into Police business? But the factions were longtime enemies. Even Jean throws a questioning glance towards Armin, who gives him no notice, and stares straight ahead.

When inquired upon further, he only replies by saying that the purpose behind his sudden declaration will be made clear to the public as soon as the initial phases of planning have been solidified. They could expect an explanation before the end of the week. Until then, he encourages everyone to move onto other matters of importance.

After fighting just moments before, the room doesn't seem to know what to do with itself and its unresolved hostilities, but eventually everyone manages to let go and be productive over other issues.

Jean is thankful; his initial speech was having the right effect, but Armin's sudden interjection took the weight of judgment off of him-- and the Military Police-- almost completely. He looks back at Nile, who nods in approval and steps back up, even though he 's as bewildered about what just happened as everyone else.

When Jean searches the under the Corps' banner for Armin again, he finds that the man has disappeared.

\--

Nile keeps Jean after the talks are over a little longer than he did yesterday, begrudgingly commending him for his candor, and his job dealing with Council so confidently. He mentions not knowing what in the world the Corps are planning this time; normally, Erwin gives him some sort of heads-up if they're up to something, since they have a... working relationship. When Jean tells him he knows the Captain that is behind the Extermination Project, Nile lets him go, telling him to gather any sort of information he can. Like hell is he going to agree to anything blindly, no matter how much of a help it would be to the Police. Those Corps weasels are too crafty for his tastes.

Jean doesn't mind the order at all. He wants to see Armin anyways; out of personal curiosity, and also because he promised they would see each other again yesterday.

Armin isn't in the crowd of people leaving the daily Forum, as Jean suspected he wouldn't be. He must have left early to avoid the inevitable questioning he'd get if anyone saw him. Jean wanders the halls looking for him, trying to recall the path he took yesterday to the rose garden. But he isn't there. Even that spot probably wasn't safe enough. He then retraces his steps up the stairs to the wing of the castle where the Recon Corps men are staying, and to the door that he hopes is correct. He knocks gently.

"Come in," Armin's muffled voice responds. Jean peeks in first, to gauge whether or not he's welcome at the moment.

If he thought the room was messy yesterday, well, he hadn't seen anything yet. Armin has maps on top of maps all laid out on the floor without any kind of visible order, marked with ink, wax, and strangely enough chess pieces. It seems like he's using white pieces to represent Corps soldiers, and the black ones to signify Titan movement.

The white king is within Wall Sina. The white queen stands alone, far beyond the borders of Wall Maria.

Armin pulls hair out of his eyes and looks up from his spot among all his papers and maps. Jean takes note that he's removed his prosthetic and tied the leg of his pants off below the knee. It must get in the way when he's doing work like this.

There's a glint of surprise in his expression, but also a pleased aura of satisfaction.

"So you came back after all."

"After the stunt you pulled today?" Jean shrugs with just enough drama to pull an amused smile out of Armin, and closes the door behind him, "I didn't really have a choice. It's kind of my job."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, but doesn't look guilty at all, "taking advantage of the Underground is an option I've been considering with Commander Erwin for quite some time now, but the moment wasn't opportune until... well, today."

"Why's that?" Jean asks, and takes a few steps into the room to get a better look at everything Armin's doing, "and what exactly do you plan to take advantage of, if you don't mind me asking?"

"No, this is good. The Military Police should be made aware of any plans I might have right away."

He scoots over a little and gestures for Jean to sit down next to him. He does so in one easy motion, settling down with his legs crossed. Armin launches into explanation without a moment's hesitation.

"We're aware of the crisis in the Underground in the Corps. Honestly, I would have liked to have something to be done about it as soon as the Police would have, but... we're all under the same pressures. Most of our men are afield, and they can't be moved from the stations we've been able to build," he points to white rooks he's set up on his maps, more than a normal chess set would have, but Jean understands their purpose; they must represent defended outposts within the territory of Wall Maria, "we can't spare a single soldier from these spots, they have to be manned 24 hours a day to remain viable. The fortifications alone require several squads to maintain..."

"I get it. We're all short-handed," Jean cuts in, and Armin nods.

"I didn't want to interject with any of my wilder ideas until it was guaranteed that I would have back up. As you said-- we're all lacking in resources, and I know that the martial status of the Underground is under the Police's jurisdiction. So you've been experiencing it the worst of all. Making demands of an overtaxed department would only have caused further tension between our factions."

"So you waited for those buzzards on the Council to make a stink about it first?"

"I hate to put it that way..." Armin trails off, and Jean snorts, "but I've found that the workings of politics are rarely convenient for the people they're supposed to benefit. Waiting for time to ripen on its own was the best way to satisfy all sides, even if the citizens may have suffered for it."

"What else could you have done?" Jean poses, "that's the reality of being in charge. There's never a solution that's perfect for everyone."

Armin makes a humming sound in agreement, but his blue eyes look clouded.

"I just want to lead in a way that prevents the weak from needlessly being crushed the heels of those above them."

"Hey, you're the one wearing the boots--"

"--Does anyone ever tell you have _such_ a way with words?"

"--shut up," Jean cuts Armin off, and he stifles a melancholy smile of amusement, "what I mean is, if that's what you want, then... step lightly, you know? I don't know a whole lot of the private stuff that goes on in the Corps, and the exact losses you suffer, but from the intelligence we get to see, I've never caught wind of needless death. So you must be doing your job right."

"The citizens are safe," he admits, and places the tips of his fingers on the head of a white pawn inside Wall Rose, tipping it from side to side. It's grouped together with several other of its kind, "if their lives are still hard, with our territory as limited as it is. But soldiers still die. There are new reports on my desk every day, that end with names like their existences were an afterthought."

The pawn falls over, and it barely makes a sound on the vellum map.

"I'm not as sentimental about the deaths under my command as I used to be. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."

He speaks as though these are words he's never said to anyone else before, no matter how long and how heavily they've weighed in his chest.

"...I can't really relate," Jean admits, "I've only got a small squad, and though they might've been in mortal danger a couple of times, none of them have ever died."

"I don't expect you to understand," Armin murmurs in reply, "I honestly don't want anyone to. It's not a pleasant realization."

He pauses, and looks back toward Jean through the veil of his hair. Jean can see him now, the Armin he used to know, gentle-hearted and uncertain. He wonders why he's been chosen as his sudden confidant.

"I only hope that you would listen," Armin finishes quietly, fixing his gaze forward again.

Jean raises his hand and gives Armin's head a weighty pat. He flinches at first, but then opens one eye to look at Jean again, curious. He uses his grip on his skull to gently rock his neck back and forth, and Armin gives a resigned groan.

"You're just as worrisome as I remember. Don't you talk to Commander Erwin about these kinds of things?"

"I don't want to bother him with something so trivial," Armin explains, "He has a lot of work to do, even more important than mine."

"Really? Because after the way he cornered me when I left your room yesterday, I thought you might be... what did you call it? His 'fun on the side'?"

"Walls, _no!_ " Armin exclaims so loud and quick that Jean would normally cry foul, but his smile shows no hint of embarrassment. He bats Jean's hand off of his head playfully, "no, Jean, that is not what I was implying at _all_. He's not interested in me in the least, trust me, I know where his affections lie-- And could you imagine? With two limbs missing between us... What a literal sideshow."

 _Well, what else am I supposed to infer from you saying stuff like that,_ Jean thinks, _and then seeing the Commander wait around just to make sure you're okay?_

But when he's done wiping the moist amusement out of his eyes, Armin still has a question left.

"You said that he cornered you after brought me back?"

"Yeah. Had a whole line of questioning ready and everything. Apparently you're a bit of a hermit these days, so he was suspicious of me carrying you in like that."

" _Erwin_ ," he sighs, faintly put-upon, "I was his personal assistant for some time after I lost my leg, and I suppose he's felt like he's responsible for me since then... He doesn't need to be telling people things like that."

_Oh. Well, that makes enough sense. Fishy, but I'll take it._

"It wasn't anything I couldn't piece together on my own," Jean replies, keeping his thoughts to himself, "I'm gonna be blunt; you looked lonely as hell back in that garden. Even someone as good with words as you are can't cover that up with conversation and... Courting."

"I can't possibly have been that hopeless," Armin pouts, "I was being serious, you know. And something I was doing must have been working; I'd gotten you flustered enough."

"You had your tongue between my fingers. That implies things where I come from."

"Yes, that was the point."

Despite everything, Armin has developed a rogue streak. His eyes glitter with self-satisfaction as Jean can't find his answer right away.

"Have you never?" he asks, blunt as usual, and Jean pulls in his lips with his teeth. Even a second's hesitation is quite telling after such an inquiry.

"...Could you be more specific?"

"Never with a man, then," Armin concludes, and he doesn't need any sort of confirmation to know that he's correct, "that's to be suspected I suppose. Even my instincts can be off now and again."

Jean immediately feels terrible, and opens his mouth to make some sort of apology, or offer reassurance, but Armin barely seems fazed. He flips his hair over his shoulder in one practiced motion, combing his fingers through the locks, and he gathers his shoulders up, peering coyly at Jean through eyelashes that suddenly seem fuller than usual.

"How about like this, then?"

Jean bursts out laughing. It was Armin's intended reaction. He bats those eyelashes like a doe, the hints of a laugh curling at the corners of his lips as well.

"What? Am I not the very image of a fair-skinned maiden, waiting for her knight in shining armor to sweep her off her feet?"

"Cut the crap! Holy hell," Jean buries his head in his hand, still shaking with mirth, and Armin relaxes into his natural posture, "where did you learn how to do that?"

"You're based in Sina, I'm sure you've seen how the higher ladies act," he replies, shaking his head with his own quiet amusement, "prancing about like deer with a springs step. It's not hard to copy their theatrics."

"Then how do you do it with such a straight face?"

"Having lost a limb makes me feel ridiculous enough on its own," he gives his stump of a leg a shake for emphasis, "I think I've lost all sense of embarrassment since then."

"You're brave," Jean sighs, wiping his fist under his nose, "crazy, but brave."

"You have to be a little bit of both, in this business," he concedes, "which reminds me, I haven't even given you the reason _why_ I want the Underground..."

"You said you wanted to know if Wall Rose and Wall Maria were connected down there?" Jean asks, rolling comfortably back into business talk.

"Yes. And if we can travel underground from outpost to outpost, since most of the supply depots we've set up are in the ruins of old towns..."

"...You can stop the casualties that happen in-transit from the Wall to the depots," Jean finishes, and Armin nods.

"Most of our casualties occur afield, during transport. If we could cut out those losses, we could concentrate more of our manpower into real Recon work. Sending out formations to kill Titans."

"Makes sense," Jean nods, and crosses his arms over his chest in thought. Everything seems to line up... But one little detail is bugging him.

"But if you already have control over Underground entrances in Wall Maria... Wouldn't working backward towards the entrance under Wall Rose's gate make more sense? You'd catch a jump on the Mafia from behind."

"...Yes, that would make perfect sense," Armin admits, expression darkening, "you're very clever to spot the inconsistency so quickly. I should have expected as much."

Jean straightens his gaze, questioning. Armin slumps his shoulders in defeat.

"We have the men for such an operation. It wouldn't take much to accomplish our goal that way,"

Armin pauses, and swallows thickly.

"I've sent scouts into the Underground from our side of the Wall, to map out the path. But none of them have returned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked this story, please leave a kudos, or even better, a comment! I live off of feedback, it's really important and energizes me so much to write more, and I appreciate every last bit of it I get! Even the tiniest comment makes my day! Thank you again!


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